Billionaire Flawed: A Bad Boy Billionaire Baby Romance

by Tia Siren

  ''Welcome back Tyra. I'm so sorry to hear about your mom and dad,'' Leon said. ''Thanks, Leon. It's very brave of you to say so.'' She'd found that most people just turned away from her, not knowing what to say. Not Leon. It was his job to stand inside the door and keep out the undesirables. He was perfectly equipped to do so at six feet seven and two hundred and fifty pounds, but it involved hours standing in the same place, day after day.

  ''Tyra, my girl,'' Radley Samuel's said. He'd been waiting for her. Normally, he didn't stand in the shop.

  He had others to do that for him. His job was managing the business that his grandfather had started. ''Come with me.''

  Tyra followed him through the store. They walked past glass cabinets filled with beautiful necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings, and watches. At the back of the store, they went through a door and down a corridor. The first door on the right led to a security room. Tyra had never been in the room, but she had seen inside once when the door had been open. It was full of monitors and the latest lock down systems. It was all hi-tech, and she had no idea about any of it.

  Radley pushed open the first door on the left and showed her into his office. How can anyone spend hours in an office with no daylight? she wondered. There were pictures of his ancestors on one wall and a giant flora vase in the corner. What she liked most about his office was the carpet. It was deep red with the company crest woven into it.

  ''Tyra, please sit down.'' He pointed to a button backed armchair that stood in front of his mahogany desk. ''I want you to tell me how you are feeling. You've been through a lot, and I want to make sure you’re feeling up to working again.'' I wish I had a daughter like her, she's so graceful and kind, yet determined and motivated, he thought.

  ''Well, honestly speaking, I'm still feeling awful.'' You can tell him everything; he cares for you, she told herself as a moment of doubt crept into her mind. ''I weep a lot, especially in the evening and I feel guilty. So guilty.'' She noticed how closely he was listening to her. The furrows on his forehead were deep with concern for her, and his eyes were looking directly into hers, seeking any sign that a return to work may be too early.

  ''There is nothing I can say to you that will make you feel better. All I can do is tell you what happened to me when my son was killed.'' Killed? I didn't know he'd had a son, she thought. The thought that someone close to her had also suffered such a loss made her feel better.

  ''My son was only nineteen. He was studying business at New York University and working here at the weekends.'' He stopped talking for a moment, took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead. Tyra knew him to be fifty-nine. He was quite tall and very thin. It was as if he was so involved in his business he forgot to eat.

  He looked at her with a pained expression as he continued. ''One morning, he left home to go to college, and he never came back again. A man who had been drinking all night decided to get into his car and drive to the girlfriend he had left for dead in her apartment the previous evening. When he fell asleep at the wheel, it was my son he hit.'' Tyra noticed a crack in his voice. ''Walking down the street minding his own business.'' He took the handkerchief and blew his nose.

  ''Oh my God, that's awful,'' Tyra put her hand to her mouth.

  He nodded. Perhaps I shouldn't have burdened her with this, he thought. ''At first, everything was a blur. It was only after the funeral had taken place that it really hit me. After the funeral, everyone seems to disappear. All the kind words and supporting arms are no longer there. You are suddenly alone.'' He ran his hand through his thinning gray hair and looked towards a photo on his desk. Tyra couldn't see who it was. She assumed his son.

  ''The Undertaker had warned me about it. A deep hole, he'd called it, and I fell into it.'' When he paused, Tyra thought about where she was mentally and recognized what he was describing. ''The Undertaker also explained that there is something called the cycle of grief. You go through stages of grief, and if you are lucky, eventually come out the other end. The last stage is called the acceptance stage. You stop all the blaming and come to terms with what's happened. Of course, you're still sad, but it gets easier.''

  ''It's very kind of you to tell me this. I had no idea. I was afraid I would have this level of pain for the rest of my life.'' Tyra looked at her hands. Her nails used to be so manicured, she thought.

  ''When I employed you, Tyra, I saw something in you. You are one of life's good people. I can see you care about people. When you talk to clients, you are patient, and most importantly, you listen to them. Did you know I have no relatives?''

  Tyra shook her head.

  ''No.''

  ''Well, I don't. Not one, and no friends. There's only my wife and me.'' He looked at her, and wondered what he was about to say, would do to her. ''I am going to leave the business to you.'' He stared at her, not wanting to miss her reaction.

  ''Pardon?' Tyra said. She wasn't really in the mood for jokes.

  ''I am going to leave the business to you,'' he repeated.

  What the hell is he playing at? This isn't funny, doesn't he know I've just buried my parents. She went to stand up, but he put up his hand and stopped her.

  ''For the last time, Tyra. You will inherit this business.'' Someone knocked on the door; it was his wife. ''Tell her Eliana, she doesn't believe me.''

  ''How are you, Tyra? We are very worried about you?'' she said ignoring her husband's plea for help.

  ''I've been better.'' What are they playing at, surely Jewish people don't give things away like this, she thought?

  ''My husband, as you know, isn't given to pranks. We have decided to leave it to you. Of course, you are young, and you have only just started in the business, but we see you have got what it takes.'' She put her hand on Tyra's shoulder and looked her into her eyes. ''You are intelligent, and you have an enormous appetite for the business. We have never seen anyone with your enthusiasm. We are both sixty next year and all we have done with our lives is sit in this store.'' She looked at her husband and gave him an assertive nod. ''In five years time, we will retire and travel. You will take over as manager, and when we die, it will all be yours. Take the time between now and then to learn all you can about the business.''

  ''Are you okay to come back to work?'' Radley asked. Tyra looked at him and burst into tears. It was a gesture so great that her emotions overflowed.

  Eliana sat on the chair arm and put her arm around her. ''You have been through a lot, but you have us, and we will help you all we can.''

  *****

  Tyra started up Google and typed in: 'The Hope Diamond' She read: Value $350 million dollars, 45 karats, 9.1 grams. ''Three hundred and fifty million dollars,'' she whispered under her breath.

  She and Radley had agreed that she would work in the shop four days a week and spend the other two days shadowing him. He' made a list of things he had to teach her. He hadn't realized how long the list would prove to be. One thing he couldn't teach her was diamond cutting. While he was an expert at grading and valuing gems, he'd never enjoyed using tools. Tyra had told him that she'd go to college in her own time and learn.

  ''How do you like your desk?'' Radley asked as he poked his head into her new office. Tyra wondered if the room had been intended as a broom cupboard when the place was built, but she didn't want to complain. She was grateful it had a window and more than grateful that the Samuels had seen so much potential in her.

  ''Lovely thanks. I was just looking up information on the Hope Diamond. It really is quite spectacular.''

  He stepped into the office and looked at the picture with her. ''It sure is. One of the best diamonds in the world and it's coming here. I can't quite believe it.''

  ''Neither can I.'' She'd never heard of the program called, 'Diamonds for All.' It was an initiative set up by the National Association of Jewelers, with the aim of bringing famous diamonds to places where the public go and see them. Based on reputation, Radley had been asked if he would
like to house the Hope Diamond when it came to New York. His store had the best security of any in the city, and it had a strong room big enough to house a large show cabinet, four security men, and the viewing public.

  ''Listen, Tyra, I know I said I'd show you the sales figures this afternoon, but Mrs. Johnson has told me she's feeling ill and would like to go home. Can you fill in for her this afternoon? Tyra nodded.

  The shop was divided into departments. Not that the clients would notice. To the untrained eye, the store was one large area full of glass cabinets. To the staff, however, it was different. Usually, there were four sales people on duty at anyone time, and two security guards. Each sales person was responsible for six cabinets. Tyra didn't know why, but she enjoyed working on the cabinets where the most expensive ladies jewelry was housed.

  ''Wow,'' she muttered when she saw the man talking to Leon. Leon had a great eye for people and was a master at keeping scruffy, drunk or loud people out of the store. The man Leon was talking to was none of these. He was beautifully dressed, six feet tall, and well built. Tyra wasn't an expert on men's suits, but she knew enough to see that it was expensive. Leon pointed to Tyra, and she watched as the man walked towards her. When he got closer, she saw the dreamiest emerald green eyes. She inadvertently adjusted her hair and checked to see her blouse was tucked into her skirt.

  ''Hi. I have an appointment. My name is Dima Asakov. I'm looking for some jewelry for my mother's birthday.''

  ''Certainly sir.'' Although she had never seen him before, he was obviously one of the store's high net worth individuals. Very rich people were allowed to make an appointment, during which they got VIP treatment. Why don't you pamper me instead of your mother, I could use it right now, she thought. She was quick to chastise herself for being unprofessional.

  He noted her features with interest. Black, beautiful, tall, thin, lovely curves, perfect breasts and beautiful face. His mother always said it was the sign of a classy man, when the man kept eye contact with a woman, despite the size of her breasts. Whenever he met a woman, he reminded himself of this. Most days it was easy, but today it required a Herculean effort.

  ''Follow me, Mr. Asakov.'' The VIP suite was the most comfortable place Tyra had ever been in, but it lacked atmosphere. It wasn't used nearly as often these days. The financial crisis had seen to that.

  ''Please take a seat,'' she said. He chose the sofa. In the room, there were two arm chairs and a sofa. Made of velvet, they were red, which gave the room a regal feel. Radley had spent a small fortune getting the lighting right. The ceiling was dotted with tiny spot lights, but around the sales table, they were larger. The sales table was a small glass affair, between the sofa and the arm chairs. Just a coffee table Radley had been advised that displaying jewelry in a homely setting would lead to more sales.

  ''I'm Tyra, it's lovely to meet you. Tell me about your mother what kind of woman is she? Tyra was the only sales assistant that bothered asking questions about the intended recipient. It allowed her to make better choices on behalf of the clients, she thought.

  ''Yes. Where shall I start?''

  ''Well, how old is she?''

  ''She's twenty-two years older than me,'' he said.

  ''Thirty-eight then,'' she said playing him at his own game.

  ''That would make me sixteen,'' he laughed. ''No she's forty-nine.'' Twenty-seven she calculated instantly.

  ''Sorry, I know it's a lot to ask but can you tell me, what color eyes and hair she has. Is her skin light or dark?''

  ''She's got blonde hair, like mine and her skin color is the same. Her eyes? Do you know, it's amazing how you think you know somebody so well and still don't know things like eye color.'' He looked embarrassed. ''Is it very important?''

  She nodded. ''Have you got a sister?'' He nodded. ''Call her, she'll know.'' After a very short conversation in Russian, he hung up.

  ''Green,'' he said. ''Do you know what color eyes your mother has?'' When her eyes dropped, he felt awkward. ''Sorry, it's none of my business.''

  ''She's dead. But most black people have brown eyes, so it's not so difficult in my case. How much do you want to spend today?''

  ''My budget is five hundred thousand,'' he said it without flinching as if it was the kind of impulse buy mothers make to pacify their whining kids at the supermarket check out.

  ''Great, well thank you for choosing Samuels. I hope we can find you just what you're looking for.'' Tyra smiled at him. Not the usual friendly smile she reserved for people she liked, but the smile she hadn't used since she fell in love with her English teacher when she was sixteen.

  ''Of course, if you really want to make me happy, you can sell me the Hope Diamond at a knockdown price,'' he jested.

  ''I would, but it won't be here for a few weeks,'' she quipped. They both laughed. There was a silence as they looked at each other. It was one of those settling looks that leaves the participants at ease with each other. ''Where did you read we are hosting the Hope Diamond?''

  ''It was in the New York Times. They wrote a fascinating story about the life of the diamond, who'd owned it and where it had traveled to. It's been worn by some of the most beautiful women in the world. It would look really good on you.''

  He's looking at my breasts, she thought. Get some jewelry in front of him to look at. ''Alright, lets get down to business. How about a matching necklace and earrings?'' When he nodded, Tyra called security and got them to fetch the set that Tyra herself admired more than anything in the store.

  ''So, tell me about yourself, Tyra?'' he said. She could tell it was genuine interest, not just conversation filler.

  ''There isn't much to know really,'' she said.

  ''That can't be true. I'm sorry if this embarrasses you, but you are very attractive. A woman like you must have a lot of stories to tell. I bet you get hit on everyday.''

  I do, she thought. In the subway, on the street, in restaurants, almost everywhere. ''No, not really.''

  ''You're kidding me. In that case, the male population of New York must be blind.''

  ''Alright, I lied. I do get comments all the time. I can't go anywhere without someone looking at me in an inappropriate manner or whistling at me.''''And do you like it when a man whistles at you?'' he asked in a lower tone of voice.

  This isn't the kind of conversation you should be having with a client; she told herself. Not able to help herself, she continued. ''Sometimes. It depends on who's whistling. If it's a group of guys on a building site, I don't mind because I know it's just a bit of fun. If it's a guy on the street next to me, it's too close, and I feel threatened.''

  ''And if I whistled at you now? How would that make you feel?''

  Don't answer that, he's flirting with you. ''I'd like it,'' she said as her eyes rolled away in embarrassment.

  ''Let's see.'' He looked around to make sure the door was still closed and made a wolf whistle. ''There. Did you enjoy that?''

  She was ashamed to say she did. It had been months since she'd had any real attention from a man. Just before her parents had died, she had talked with Natalie about it. Natalie told her it was because she was so beautiful and most men felt intimidated by her. She remembered telling Natalie she was mad.

  “It was nice. Flirty.'' she an answered.

  ''Flirty? That's an interesting word.'' He was about to say more, but security arrived with the jewelry.

  ''There, what do you think?'' she asked when the magnificent pieces were lying on the table in front of him.''

  ''Why are you so sad?'' he said, ignoring what was in front of him. He noticed her eyes look into his and then down to the jewelry. The speed with which she did it, implied she wanted him to concentrate on what was in front of him, not on her. ''Why?'' he insisted.

  ''My mom and dad died in a horrific car crash a few weeks ago.''

  ''Jesus, I'm sorry. That's awful. How are you coping?''

  She admired him. Most people would have changed the subject, but he
didn't. ''Not very well.''

  ''I'm not surprised. Can you talk about it?'' Tyra had once read a book about body language and the way he was sitting said to her that he was interested in her well-being and not after a cheap disaster story.

  ''I don't know if I can talk about it. To be honest, I haven't really tried too much. I've mentioned things to Natalie, my best friend, and to Mr. Samuels, but really talk to someone about it, no. I haven't done that.''

  ''What happened?'' He asked directly.

  ''Well, in the first instance it was my fault.''

  ''Were you driving?'' he asked logically.

  ''No, my father was driving. It's a long story.'' She suddenly felt tired and alone. She realized she didn't want to talk about it.

  ''Tell me. I want to help you. How do you expect to get better if you never tell anyone about it?''

  She was sick of feeling the way she did, and she desperately wanted to feel like she had before the accident, but she was afraid to let go. She was holding onto the pain because she felt she should be punished for what she did.

  She decided she would try and open up. ''I moved to New York from a small town just outside the city seven months ago. I applied for and got this job. I was so happy. I got a tiny apartment in Queens and decorated it just how I liked it. Pink everywhere.'' She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in a display of irony. It should have been black, she mused. ''Mum was forty-two when she had me. They had tried for twenty years to have a baby, and it finally happened.'' Dima reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean tissue. She dried her eyes and cleared her throat. No, I'm going to tell him, she told the voice of doubt in her head ''They were so happy with me. They weren't rich, but they worked hard to give me a good childhood. I wanted for nothing, and I felt their love, every single day. How many people can say that?''

  Dima nodded and thought about his own family. Polar opposite to Tyra's. Back in the days when he'd lived in a one bedroom apartment in Moscow, his drunken father had beaten him black and blue for the slightest misdemeanor. His mother had tried to protect him, but when she had, he had thumped her so hard, she'd had no choice but to cower away. What his father had forgotten was that little boys have good memories, and when they grow up they become strong. The look on the old bastard’s face when Dima had throttled him still amused him.